


Good Years

by aderyn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Beds, Domestic Bliss, Happy Ending, Holding Hands, Long marriages, Marriage, Missing Persons, fancy beds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:47:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aderyn/pseuds/aderyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In luck and in love and in hope and in health.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Years

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScienceofObsession](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScienceofObsession/gifts).



> for [Science](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ScienceofObsession/pseuds/ScienceofObsession), wishing you all the happiness and love.

The sky’s copper sulfate outside the window of the empty house. The couple that lived there has just retired, at last, to the sand-soil of Sussex. Their daughter’s called them, _Mr. Holmes_ , frantic, to find the brother who’d disappeared two days before, ease her parents’ minds before they hear. He’s twenty, at uni, good kid, didn’t run off. Old story. Not a case he’d usually take but something caught his eye.

The bedroom beats like a heart.

Ian, late second child, law student, blinks bad digital sepia from Sherlock’s palm.

“This was their marriage bed,” his sister Ginger says, twists a locket, “my parents. They’ll pick it up next week.”

_(They made us here. They were happy.)_

She's a nurse, _good one, all sympathy and caffeine. He'll never be a solicitor.  
_

The bed’s carved, oaken, leaves and vines. Polished. Hands rubbed and clutched here, confessions, passion, smiles forty years ago from behind a stack of gifts.

John watches Sherlock unwrap, sniff, brush a sage sheet.

A quick sweep through the palace maybe, a table and some tapestries.

“You’ll find your brother here,” Sherlock says, plucks a pen from John’s pocket, scribbles an address. “Crime scene of sorts, but he's fine. In ten years they'll be calling him DI."

Ginger blinks.

John doesn’t.

Ginger’s Mini’s seen better days. The gravel crunches in the drive.

( _I won’t ask if you’re sure I’ve seen the blog oh thank you Mr. Holmes can you let yourselves out._ )

Sherlock laughs, goes down like a sack on the duvet, cool fingers clutched in John’s.

“That was a good year, 1976.”

No need to ask how he knows.

"Detective Inspector," John says anyway, "how d'you figure that part?"

"Radar for future jobs I'll have to do."

_Our children, you know._

Laughter. So much sun for September.

In luck and in love and in hope and in health.

Flat on their backs.


End file.
